


"Honest" "Projecting"

by aljohnson



Category: Jane Eyre - All Media Types, The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: Bad tea, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt on Tumblr, and following the posting of the AOJE Indiegogo Perk Video number 3 - "Jane", this is my take on Rochester finding a drunk Jane and taking care of her. It helps if you are a) familiar with AOJE, b) watching the Indiegogo Perk Videos. </p><p>Rating for caution. And because I am paranoid about getting told off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Honest" "Projecting"

Rochester was in the kitchen, fixing up a late night Camomile tea as a surprise for Jane when he heard the noise; a large ‘thud’ coming from the room above him; the room which was Jane’s. Rochester was immediately concerned – what had happened to cause such an outburst? Could it be…? No, he thought, unlikely, right now. He hoped, anyway.

Rochester left the teabag steeping in the floral mug, and bounded up the back stairs; the quickest route to Jane’s room – a whole five seconds quicker than using the main stairs, not that he’d timed it. Honest. He’d think about his rationale for that some other time, right now he just needed to make sure Jane was OK.

He got to her room and found the door shut. That was unusual for Jane. It wasn’t late enough yet for her to be in bed. Not that he’d been monitoring her usual routine. Honest. He knocked, tentatively, cleared his throat and hesitantly called out, “Jane”.  Silence greeted him in return. He tried again, knocking once more, followed by a more confident “Jane?”  There was still no response, but, was that a sound he heard coming from within the room? Rochester assessed his options, deciding to what extent he was about to overstep a line. He decided he could put it down to concern for Jane’s welfare if he got called out on this. Taking a further deep breath, he grabbed the door handle, quickly turned it and opened the door.

Rochester was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. Jane was collapsed on the floor, making a sound that was half-way between a sob and a laugh. She was clutching something to her, her arms wrapped round it as if her life depended on it. “Jane?” said Rochester, kneeling down besides Jane on the floor, “Jane, what is it, what’s wrong, are you OK?” He started to reach out an arm, but thought better of it. He wasn’t sure where the lines lay between them anymore. Something had changed while she had been away, she was being much more tactile and, and he hoped he wasn’t imagining this, flirty with him.

Jane looked up at him and giggled. She giggled. Rochester wasn’t sure what was happening. “Are you hurt?” He decided to hell with it and reached his hand out to caress her shoulder. He brushed her hair away from her face where it had fallen forwards over her eyes.

“He’s so fluuuuuuuufffffffffffy!” wailed Jane, “I love him so muuuuuccchhhhhhh”, she exclaimed. Rochester felt his heart sink. Who was this person Jane was talking about? What was she clutching in her hands? “Jane?” Jane looked up at Rochester, her eyes widened as she looked up at him. He adored those eyes, the intensity he could feel coming from them, as if Jane was staring directly into his soul. “Hey, youuuu, Roooooochester, Mr Rocccchhhhhester, Siiiiirrr” slurred Jane, still rocking gently on the ground. Rochester sighed despondently; he didn’t want to set things back between them, for Jane to go back to her calling him “Sir”. He liked new Jane, a lot, a whole lot, in ways that confused him. He wasn’t sure what might be going on between them, but he hoped he wasn’t imagining that she seemed to be more open to him. Jane looked up at him, “Fluffy!” she exclaimed.

He decided to try again, “Jane, Jane, what do you have there, hey, can you show me”. Jane grinned, mischievously. “Fluffy!” she exclaimed, again, more playful and less desperate now. Wait, was she, was she drunk? Jane didn’t drink, he knew that, she’d made it very clear at their first dinner, and he’d noticed she hadn’t touched any of the copious amounts of booze at the Thornfield re-branding party, or any of his private parties for his friends. He’d just casually monitored this, honest. How in the heck was she drunk? Never mind, he’d deal with how later. “Jane, Jane, can I take this from you?” he asked, continuing to stroke her hair gently. Jane murmured in a way that Rochester decided he was going to interpret as acquiescence. He gently reached down and pried Jane’s fingers from the item she was holding. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and he tried not to think about the spark of electricity he felt as he ran his fingers over her much smaller ones. Gently, he managed to loosen Jane’s grip on what, it turned out was a photo frame. Rochester held it in his hand, reluctantly letting go of Jane’s fingers as he pondered his options. He could leave it, face down, and never see who it was that Jane loved, he could turn it over and have to confront the truth, he could hold Jane in his arms whilst she continued to drunkenly bemoan her absent love, he could just stand up and leave and pretend this had never happened, bury his hope for them under all his other dashed hopes and dreams. “Pull yourself together Edward” he murmured to himself, stroking the edge of the still face down photo frame, “take a look at the competition”. He took a deep breath and turned the frame over.

What? What was this he was looking at? It was a picture of Jane. And Pilot. What? He was confused. Jane roused, her fingers brushing over his as she reached out for the photo frame. “Hey, Pilot, Pilot, good dog, good doggy, I loooovvvveee yoooouuuuuu, good doggy, good”. Rochester laughed, as much to himself as anything else. Pilot being loved by Jane he could cope with, and hey, it was his dog, that was a good sign, surely? He reached over and put the picture on top of Jane’s suitcase, hopefully out of harm’s way. Jane’s hand patted Rochester’s thigh and he inadvertently whimpered in response. She looked up at him, seeming confused by his presence. “Hey you, when did you get here? Why are you on my floor?” Jane slurred. “Well, Jane, you’re on your floor too” replied Rochester, laughing as he said it, searching his mind for a safe way to steer the conversation. He found nothing in his mind other than a whole host of actions which would lead to a very severe law suit and harassment claim. “Yes, the floor is nice, isn’t it?” said Jane, smiling at him with a smile that shone through deep into her core. Rochester gazed at Jane. She was so beautiful, even when she was drunk. “Calm yourself Edward” he thought. He decided that action needed to be taken, that Jane needed to be helped, and that Grace didn’t need to know about this. Neither did Adele, and if he didn’t get Jane to pipe down soon, she’d wake the girl, and Adele would have all sorts of questions, most of which he wouldn’t be able to answer. Also, he really, really didn’t need Adele to tweet about this.

“Jane, Jane, you need to get into bed, you need to get some sleep. Do you want me to help you?” He swallowed, hard, please; please let her say she wanted him to help. Jane giggled, again. It was very, distracting. He wanted her to do it again. For research purposes, honest. Jane tried to sit up, it didn’t go well, and she collapsed again, brushing her hand down his thigh once more. Rochester adjusted the tie he was still wearing from his day in the office – was it getting hot in here? He loosened the tie, waited a second and then removed the damned thing, throwing it onto the floor. He was going to have to take a quite forceful step. He eased himself out from under Jane’s exquisite hand, bemoaning the loss of contact. He squatted on the floor, wrapping his arms around Jane so that he could help her up. Her head brushed against his chest as he tried to help her get to her feet. This was going badly. Jane was being no help. They were balanced now, him half squatting, Jane leaning all her weight on him. She had totally relaxed all her muscles and become a dead weight. Even with her sleight frame it was like trying to manoeuvre a shopping trolley with one wonky wheel and a disconnected handle. He swallowed, deeply, he was going to have to be more pro-active about this. He grabbed Jane by the waist and lifted her. She shrieked as he raised her clear of the floor, “Jane, Jane, shush now, you’ll be fine, trust me”. She quietened down at that.

Rochester moved her, somewhat awkwardly, towards the bed. “Good grief”, he thought to himself, “this could go very wrong, very wrong indeed”. He guided her gently down, scooping the duvet down with one hand as he did so. OK, first hurdle overcome. Jane attempted to fall backwards onto the bed. He quickly grabbed her and held onto her, sitting down on the bed next to her as he did so. “OK, Jane, I need to take your cardigan off, OK?” he asked her, “oh god” he thought, “please don’t let her slap me for this”. Jane nodded her agreement, “Ooooo, Kaaaaayyy, that’s Oooooo Kaaayyyy” murmured Jane, holding her arms up. Rochester took yet another deep breath, and gently slid the cardigan along her arms to remove it from her. Her skin was milky white, pale and so smooth. He resisted the urge to rub his rough fingers over her soft arms. “OK, Jane, OK, that’s good”. He looked down. She was wearing leggings, socks and slippers. He gently leaned Jane back, helping her as she instinctively reached for the pillow to lie down. He moved himself down the bed, and carefully removed her slippers, swinging her feet up onto the bed as he stood up. He reached for the duvet and gently moved to tuck Jane in.

Jane opened an eye and looked directly at him, “Hey, you’re not going are you?” she asked. She looked so despondent about the possibility, and Rochester enjoyed any excuse to spend time with her, even under circumstances such as this. “Of course not” he replied. He shrugged off his jacket, depositing it on the floor near his tie. He moved around to the other side of the bed, quickly considered his options and sat down on top of the duvet, next to Jane. She snuggled up next to him, “my tea tasted funny” she slurred; sleep mixed now with the potency of whatever it was she had actually drunk. “Ah, I see” said Rochester, not really seeing at all. Jane was snuggled up against him now, and he found himself automatically wrapping his arm around her shoulder, his hand caressing her hair and back. “Hmm, that’s nice” murmured Jane, as she slowly slipped into sleep.

Rochester sat there for a while, gently comforting Jane until he was sure she was asleep. He gently got off the bed, and moved round to pick up his tie and jacket from the floor. This room was a mess. He decided to tidy up before Grace could see it – she’d go mad if she saw this. He quietly moved around the room, gathering up Jane’s discarded clothes – how had some of them ended up on the bookshelf? What had been in her tea? He put the clothes in the laundry basket, trying not to run his fingers over the soft material too much. The clothes were infused with Jane’s scent, and he just wanted to smush them all into his nose and inhale from them.

He gathered up the discarded tea mugs, bowls and assorted other plates that were casually littered around, and put them out in the hallway. It was then that he noticed her camera. Moving towards it he realised it was on, and recording! “Oh good grief Jane, what have you been doing” he wondered. “I imagine this one might not end up in her vlog” he considered, “probably for the best, all things considered”. He pressed the button to turn the camera off, and fixed the lens cap on.  He tip-toed from the room, turning the light off as he gently shut the door. He gathered up all the crockery he had assembled and took it to the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher for the morning. The camomile tea was stewed by now, so he poured it away and added that mug to the dishwasher rack too.

Early the next morning Jane woke, in a state of confusion. As she got her bearings she looked around. Had she tidied her room without remembering? It wasn’t usually as neat as this. Where had the tea mugs and other crockery gone? Why was she in bed in her T-Shirt and leggings? Why was there a faint indent in the pillow next to hers? She pondered what had happened the night before. Had her tea tasted funny? Had Rochester been here? She was having vague flash backs; him finding her on the floor, stroking her hair, helping her into bed, oh goodness – hadn’t she been wearing a cardigan, oh goodness, what had happened? She had vague notions of her hair being stroked, of being lulled into sleep by gentle caresses, snuggled up against, oh goodness – had she snuggled Rochester. Oh goodness, she really was going to have to give her notice, wasn’t she? Jane gently stood up, her head hurt, and she wasn’t sure why. Why was the picture of her and Pilot on top of her suitcase? She reached for the cardigan, which was neatly folded on her chair. Odd, she usually casually tossed it to one side.

She carefully opened her door, peering out into the hallway. She could hear chatter from the kitchen, a voice that was Ricardo’s and, who else? Was it Rochester? Oh no, what had she done? Jane decided that facing the music was better than hiding upstairs all day – if she was about to get fired, even without really knowing why, she could use the day to try to find somewhere to go. She sneaked down the stairs; Rochester was sat at the Kitchen Island, in discussion with Ricardo. She coughed. It hurt. She winced.

“Hi” she said, waving vaguely in the direction of the two men. “Jane” exclaimed Ricardo, before Rochester could speak – “how are you this fine morning? Did you sleep in late today?” “Oh goodness”, Jane replied. She glanced at the clock, it was gone 9. She should have been up three hours ago to take Adele to her morning Scouts. Jane looked up at Rochester. He smiled at her, a beaming smile. “You seemed to have maybe had some bad tea, there was no waking you, so I took Adele this morning. It was fun. How are you now?” he asked, a look of what appeared, to Jane, to be genuine concern on his face – was she projecting? She sheepishly looked at her hands, gathering them in front of her and shucking them up into her cardigan as she did so. “I’m OK, I think. Erm, did something weird happen last night?” she asked. Rochester smiled at her, the deep smile he kept for her, the smile she found charming with the twinkle in his eyes. “As I said, I think you had some bad tea – maybe something herbal that had gone off, you weren’t feeling very well, so you went to bed early.” Jane got the distinct feeling that Rochester was lying, especially as she could smell the faint lingering tones which she recognised from the faint indent in her pillow.

It was only later that day, when Jane thought to check her camera, that she saw the whole thing, including a fascinating 30 minutes where Rochester tidied her room. She could swear he looked wistful as she watched him lean forward to turn the camera off, but she was just projecting, right?

 


End file.
